This cold, flinty heart It is you who have warmed;You wakened my passions,My senses have charmed.In vain, against meritAnd Cymon I strove:What's life without passion,Sweet passion of love?

The spring should be warm,The young season be gay;Her birds and her flow'retsMake blithesome sweet may.Love blesses the cottage And sings through the grove:What's life without passion,Sweet passion of love?